Tales of Orryumu
by HumanBeingGen2
Summary: A collection of accounts by Orryumu Ryusono and his company as their expedition is caught in the midst of a terrible war between two empires along with other short stories. (BASED MOSTLY ON THE MANGA) (SPOILERS!) ******** Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind and all related characters and places are property of Hayao Miyazaki.
1. Prologue

In the beginning there was the Earth, in all its natural, bequeathed wonder. Nature lay untouched, unspoiled by means other than the malevolent forces of air, fire, and time.

Then there was humanity. Humans, with their unique intellect and will to create, made swords out of the earth, shelter of the trees' flesh, and harnessed the raw power of the river for energy. It is a marvelous creature to watch making wonderful tools and contraptions to make use of the harsh environment of the Earth. Their swords cut down the fiercest of the wild beasts, and their structures even rivaled the architecture of the great mountains.

As man's offspring multiplied, so did their desire to conquer the nature that has bound and terrified them for so long. With an intelligent cunning did they spread into the most inhospitable of places, from fiery volcanoes to the edges of the sea. That too, however, did not stop their overwhelming curiosity of places unknown.

The beasts of the Earth had a chance against man by their weakness of strength, for they lacked any claws or sharp teeth. But man's intellect and ability to adapt, now that was strength they couldn't even fathom. This strength of humankind, time willing, ultimately subjugated the animals and plants.

The race of man collected in fertile regions to grow their crops and raise their animals. As more migrated into these oases, the larger they became. Man, separated by distance and language in the early days, developed distinct cultures and traditions. As the generations progressed, these differences eventually caused tension, and ultimately, war.

Human beings at the instinctual level were driven by a will to conquer. Not by meaningless sport or malice, but of survival. Humanity needed certain resources to sustain itself, such as food and water, for they are not gods that feed on the energy of the universe itself. And so there were many wars for these things, but man also has a way of changing desires. So other wars were not only fought for earthly resources, but power, power over ample pieces of land and hordes of people.

Nature's laws allowed for strong groups to emerge above the rest. And with their wealth and power did they build great cities with high walls and proud citadels. And their ingenuity never ceased either. They built better tools, better solutions to the problems thrown about by nature, better cures for the ailments that poisoned their children. But we must not forget their will to destroy as well. They built terrible weapons to kill masses by many horrendous and maniacal methods, most of which are long lost to time. The more land and resource they conquered, the wealthier their lords became. With this wealth, their people enjoyed prosperity. And civilizations soon reached the pinnacle of their growth, where the citizens were healthy and happy. And it is common knowledge that prosperous civilizations had huge populations under their protection. And so with such wealth, did they use it to serve the people. They built great factories to produce commodities for the common people, spoiling them with simplicity and lameness. Man's intellect and technology grew to the point where they were able to tamper with the well-spring of life itself, manipulating it to his will, and with such power, many queer creatures were created.

The Factories spewed out dark clouds of poison that over the hundreds of years choked the very air and soil itself. The world was hopelessly poisoned beyond recognition, a mere thousand years after the founding of this industrial mega-society. The great airships, which the Chronicles named starvoyagers, for they were said to reach the stars themselves, seldom returned from their journeys. Failing to govern for themselves, the governments of the world pitted their hope in a proposed solution: artificial gods. Forged in impenetrable fleshly armor, girded in rings of light, and armed with a Fire only described as the judgement of God, they were worshipped and revered for their ability of counsel and judgement. They ruled from The Court of Heaven, watching over the bustling of humankind. They were the ultimate judges and arbiters, created in good will, with the hopes of leading a broken race to save their planet.

No one expected their return. But the moment the mankind glimpsed the awesome prowess of the great God Warriors, they were afraid. Afraid of the judgement that has long awaited to be served. For they knew… the Gods have reached their decision, and offered a final solution. No one knows why or how they had reached the conclusion to destroy humanity but they did what they saw fit. So they walked the earth, incinerating everything in their path for seven days. Any resistance was in vain. This great war was now forever known as the Seven Days of Fire.

But some of humanity survived, fleeing underground, and lived on through the long Twilight Years. The planet was now a desolate wasteland. And out of that wasteland, did the toxic ecosystem of the Sea of Corruption spawn. Mankind was reduced to nothing, and slowly out of the dust did it rebuild its cities. Nevertheless, industrialized civilization was never rebuilt. As generations passed on, the God Warriors and their Creators became nothing more than myths. Mankind fled to the edges of the land to escape from the malice of the Sea of Corruption.

Out of these small groups of survivors grew villages, which grew into towns, cities, and finally, kingdoms once again appeared in the new world. Diverse kingdoms they were, from the warmongering Torumekians to the pious Doroks to the stubborn states of the Periphery.

This story begins in a powerful kingdom east of Torumekia, named _Xathanus_. Inhabited by a proud people, Xathanus was once a continental superpower of great power and wealth, which had a tragic, slow decline to the likes of those of the mighty empires of the old world. Far from the miasma of the Sea of Corruption, the Xathanians cared little for what business scurried about in the Continent.

Enter Orryumu of the noble House Ryusono. A handsome, well-rounded young man, strong and able in the sword as well as the plow. This is his tale, his tale of discovering the true world of the Continent, a place very secluded from his people. Along with his trusted friend Saladin Ayameda, they embark on a quest to relocate the site of a Ceramic Era derelict, only to have things turn terribly wrong. This is the story of a young man seeing the true nature of war, void of glory and valor, filled only with brutality and nihilism.


	2. When Fire Fell (Part 1)

_No one knows,_

 _Why heaven fell,_

 _The Factories were spewing their wastes into the air,_

 _Even the great arks did not cease venturing to the stars,_

 _The Tower stood in defiance to the mountains,_

 _Our planet was rotting, our minds ignorant,_

 _So the Gods came,_

 _Wielding Light and Staff,_

 _Served a terrible judgement,_

 _Holy fire engulfed the world,_

 _For seven days they roamed,_

 _Their stone corpses lie still,_

 _Echoes of a violent end._

 _\- Lamentation from the Chronicles_

 **Capital City of Imperium, Kingdom of Xathanus, 1500 leagues east of the Sea of Corruption**

Orryumu walked the busy, dusty streets of the city he called home, with little on his mind other than some errands for the day. That is the nature of noblemen, always occupied, especially the ones nearing the age of manhood.

Now Orryumu was acquainted by many in the city, especially among the merchants, as he was fond of their tales from the distant lands westward. Being of the House of Ryusono, he was well respected, mostly in part to that overly exalted family name. His forefathers were popular explorers, warriors, scientists, scholars, holy men, and chief advisors to the king.

Being a direct descendent of the great General Sathepro, who led the Xathanian forces to repel the invading Seson Doroks during the Great Fire War centuries ago was no small piece of family history, as Sathepro's helmet and sword are rumored to be sealed underneath the Chamber of the Kings in the Royal Temple. A mighty burden, yet, it has never shaken him.

That was not the case for the young ladies at the sundowner parties however, where every inch of his face was exalted. Green eyes, with the same fire of his warlord ancestors, hair the color of ripe autumn grain, cut into bangs. He wore his usual blue coat, embroidered in silver and gold patches. Ancient spells for luck and protection were scrawled across his sleeves. It was a gift from his uncle. A ceramic longsword rested at his side, swinging as his boots thudded on the dirt.

It always amused him how his friends and kin fused over his lineage. If only they treated him as a common man like the artisans or serfs.

"Morning, Master Orryumu!" hollered an ample baker with a leather apron stained with powdery white. He was unshaven, a common trait among the working class.

The young man nodded in his direction, and continued his stroll on the bustling streets.

Merchants and sellers have set up their booths in the shadow of the citadel, hollering out prices along with the stentorian cries of bidders who responded. The summer sun bore fiercely on the square, with gusts of wind kicking up the dust into billowing waves.

Orryumu hastily scurried out of the market district into the chapel of the far quieter artisan district. Here, master and apprentice alike hammered, molded, weaved, tied, sowed, and sharpened ever so tirelessly like an old engine from the days of the Ancients. Around these parts, even that craft survived…

The young noble finally reached his destination. The huge, cube shaped building that overshadowed the block was the headquarters of the Royal Blacksmith Co.

Black smoke billowed from the chimney that was fashioned out of an old airship's exhaust pipe. The heat from the forges was felt long before Orryumu reached the door.

The familiar fumes of smoke and steam covered the floor of the building like noon miasma. Burly men with thick limbs stomped away at huge animal skin bellows, while engineers hollered for wrenches for cranking down the furnaces. Steam hissed, fires roared, metal clanged and men sweated.

The heat was so great that Orryumu took off his embroidered coat. More accustomed to the cool air of the mountains during his retreats to his personal residence, it did not do so well with the temperature here.

Orryumu hung his coat on the rack next to some charcoal-stained aprons. He was about to meet an old friend.

A stocky man worked at the central forge, hammering away at a bright orange bar of metal. His beard dropped down touching his veiny neck. His torn shirt was drenched with sweat from spending countless hours in the heat.

"Saul!" Orryumu called. "Are the coals nice and hot or chilly and not?"

The large man turned, and gave a smile through his thick beard. "Master Orryumu! Good day to see you!" Saul hollered, placing his hammer on the anvil.

"Can't say it any better ha ha!" The two pulled each other into tight embrace.

"So how are the new blades doing?" Orryumu asked.

Saul wiped his brow with a hairy arm and returned to his anvil, and hammered a bit.

"The blades are doing splendidly. It took nearly a month for my men to successfully melt down, design, and hammer the Ohmu shell scraps into a couple of swords, but it was done. Take a look."

Saul pulled out a heavy chest from under the furnace. He undid the locks and swung it open. Inside were five completed Ohmu shell swords. The tools made of an Ohmu's molted exoskeleton are by far the most durable tools around the Continent, and the swords were no exception, even shattering ceramic blades in battle from time to time. However, Xathanus was far from the Sea of Corruption, so frequent expeditions had to be made to salvage materials such as Ohmu shells and raw ceramics. But there was mostly no need for the latter, as the great mountain ranges in the north provided all the ore to satisfy all the metal workers in the kingdom.

"May I?" Orryumu gestured to one of the swords.

"Be my guest, lad."

Being of noble blood, Orryumu was taught the art of the sword at an early age, another duty expected by the sons of nobles. He learned quickly under Lord Velox when the great master took him in as a boy, and by the time nigh of eighteen, he was the best swordsman of all Imperium, and possibly the whole region itself.

Orryumu, as well versed in the sword as he was, was still astounded to be holding one of the infamous Ohmu shell blades he had heard so many tales about. The hilt was sturdy and had a lightweight steel cross guard, a staple of Xathanian craft, as the art of making steel was all but forgotten in the other kingdoms.

He spun the blade between his thumb and middle finger. It cut the air like a hot knife through wax. Of all the swords he had used, this was by far the lightest.

The weapon was trembling in his hands. _Just imagine what it can do with such a weight…_

He then remembered the training dummy that was stationed in the back.

"Saul, you wouldn't mind if that raggedy dummy in the back could be put to use, would you? It'll be a sure way to prove its prowess…"

Saul guffawed. "Why, do as you please. I am honored to have one of my prototypes in the hands of a great swordsman."

Orryumu gave a smile. "I'm flattered."

With his newly acquired weapon, he stopped about a foot away from the tattered dummy, crudely made from leftover metal and ragged cloth. Shiny golden discs that stood in place of eyes stared back at him, unmoving.

Saul wondered why the man was taking so long. Perhaps that was the nature of his style, to patiently wait for an opening by using unwavering focus.

Suddenly, he raised his arm and swung in a diagonal fashion, aiming at the dummy's neck. The strike was so clean that the dummy's head remained attached for a couple of seconds before it exploded on the floor in a mess of metal and rags.

Orryumu spun the blade once more, examining its faces with his fingers. There was a curiosity in his eyes similar to a child's receiving a present at the Eve of Harvest.

"That was a fine swing, precise and clean. Lord Velox has taught you well." Saul clapped laudably.

"The blade is as durable as some rare ceramics, Saul. The army would love these weapons as standard issue. I've seen their swords, and they are getting quite dull. These blades would be a fine asset to our fighting men."

Saul gave a laugh. "Why, don't be foolish! Ohmu shell swords are hard enough to make, and molted Ohmu shells don't just magically appear in troves like the typical Rotwood fungi. Ceramics are much cheaper and efficient to make any day."

"Then they should be mass produced in our remaining factories then…"

"That's mad thinking as well. Ohmu shell weapons were last mass produced in the time of the Eftalian Civil War, and you know very well of what happened because of their uncontrollable lust for battle…"

Orryumu turned silent, and returned his attention to the blade.

The two stayed quiet for some time, their thoughts drowned out by the sounds of hissing steam and the creaking of bellows.

"Why, if you like it so much," Saul started, "you might as well call it your own."

Orryumu looked at Saul, completely perplexed. "Thank you so much Saul. I mean, the generals deserve such fine weapons over some young nobleman of little stature other than decent swordsmanship. It took your men to make just five of these a month…"

Saul shook his head, his face in an expression of humor. "We are now making about five more as we speak. Besides, you'll need it for the coming expedition. Take it. It's my farewell gift to you…'

Orryumu gripped the hilt tightly. "Thank you, Saul." The two shook hands.

He turned to leave but suddenly stopped.

"I almost forgot." He unsheathed his longsword and threw it towards the head blacksmith, who caught it by the hilt. "See if your men can do a little fine tuning on it!"

It was about noontime when he stepped out of the hellhole. Carriages thundered in front of him, drawn by squawking horseclaws being lashed by the crack of a whip. Noble people, artisans, and men of the mines and lumber yards all funneled through the city's streets like frightened ants.

 _The lunch time rush… All the workers are in a hurry to get home and see their families._

The street musicians took advantage of this multitude to display their tunes. Soon the sounds of plucking lutes and blaring horns filled the air. Beggars in rags huddled around them, begging for more like spoiled children.

The deafening roar of an airship's engines caught the attention of the industrious masses. Orryumu glanced toward the sky to see a great cargo ship scream past, baring the colors of the western trading company.

He continued his saunter toward the northern end of the city, where the librarians and scholars called home.

A large projectile suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. Years of sparing had honed his reflexes to those of a feline hunter, and the automatic response from his muscles was a clean swipe of his new sword.

"What the…" he exclaimed as orange pieces of fruit showered the ground.

A small boy stomped his feet, whining in defeat.

"Haha, nice try, Lou. Next time, try to get me from above!"

A bell rung as Orryumu entered the bookstore. Signs of life were strewn about. Clothes, unfinished manuscripts, and numerous dried inkwells that were spread all over the carpet like a harsh gale had touched down. For this bookstore was the business, and home, of his old childhood friend.

He walked into the next room, his shadow casting a shady black on the floor. Incense lay burning at an altar, wafting a rich scent of pine.

A young man was seated on a stool, sketching something on a piece of parchment. His tan skin glowed in the soft light of the lamp, and his brown curly hair was reminiscent of a beaver's pelt. Above his desk was a bookshelf, stuffed to the very nook and cranny with maps, scrolls, notebooks, and manuscripts.

"Evening, Saladin," Orryumu spoke as he squeezed the man's shoulder.

"Evening, Orryumu," Saladin replied, scribbling unhindered in his parchment. "I buried her ashes this morning by the way…"

A pang of sympathy and grief overwhelmed Orryumu's bosom. A few days prior, Saladin's younger sister, Bethel, had died from miasma exposure. It was during an excursion to the Rotwood a week before that a thread in her mask allowed a single spore to enter her lungs. The immediate effects were minimal, but was already a dead woman.

The symptoms had begun to show, and she had become violently ill. She started vomiting blood and horrible sores had spawned on her skin. This had persisted for days. The physicians' efforts were useless, and she had begged her brother to end her suffering. Saladin could not bear to see her die a slow, painful death any longer, so it was decided to let her pass quickly.

"I shot her in the head. I aimed it as precise as possible so she wouldn't feel a thing…" He clenched his teeth, causing more tears to spill out of his eyes into the parchment.

"You have my condolences for your loss, Saladin. I-I wish I was there with you…'

"For once, she was at peace. Hands folded across her belly. I swear, she was even smiling. Did not move a single muscle when I pressed the barrel against her temple…"

 _Just another sign of the cruel, unforgiving world we live in…_

"And so it be, the wrath of the Rotwood is resentful and brutal," Orryumu mumbled, gazing out the window to a dusty road.

"Yes, the Sea of Corruption is fatal to human beings always. But that is just the nature of it, my friend. It is just performing its function: to wipe out humanity."

Orryumu gave a forlorn sigh, and glanced to the parchment

"Is that some kind of relic?"

Saladin nodded, wiping his stinging eyes. "I used one of the rifles found in the derelict settlement that Miko's expedition found. Apparently, an underground pantry was full of these Ceramic Era weapons.

Orryumu studied the sketch some more. "It looks Torumekian… see how the loading mechanism is angled?"

Saladin nodded, flipping through an ancient manuscript. "But it is clearly not. In terms of its power, not even close…"

He pointed to a faded blueprint. "The riffling is very precise and beyond our level of technology. With such riffling, the velocity of the bullet will be about fifty thousand rotations. That's enough to puncture the armor of a tank."

Orryumu's eyes flashed. Not only would reverse-engineering this rifle allow for great advancements in weaponry, a more powerful weapon would decrease the risk of death to Xathanian soldiers. The entire empire was built on these fighting men, and their safety was a capital concern to the Royal Court. How else would the nation keep its autonomy?

"Your position as Imperial Archeologist is essential to the kingdom. Ancient weapons like these are a valuable investment to a more prosperous future in a world rotting beneath the Sea of Corruption." He patted his friend on the back like a proud parent.

Saladin remained in his trance of sketching. "I know you mean well for this kingdom, Orryumu. But it is not only the technology of the Ceramic Era that interests me. I do understand that the Royal Court had given me this job for reverse-engineering forgotten weapons for technological advancement, but how were these guns even used? It does not take an absurdly powerful weapon to kill a flesh and blood soldier. These things are impossible to understand, let alone reverse engineer. The Ancients were masters at warfare judging by their god-like technology.

Saladin stopped scribbling and placed his quill down.

"But how could a civilization so great fall so violently? What really caused the God Warriors to start the Seven Days of Fire? What was the origin of the Rotwood? Is humanity destined to be eaten?"

The tip of his quill snapped. Sighing, the he got up and strode over to his ink cabinet.

"Sometimes on quiet nights, I wonder why I was even born to such a pitiful world…" He then snatched one of the porcelain wells from one of the drawers and a crisp eagle feather quill along with it.

"Such a shame isn't it? Your sister was quite beautiful. She had her mother's hair and cheekbones. And she always seemed quite clever," Orryumu chimed in.

Saladin guffawed. "Now, when she hid all my rifle and ammunition diagrams and papers in the meat pantry in the head of a hog, I was tearing my scalp off looking for that lot. Nearly cost me my very life at the presentation before the Royal Court."

His visage darkened, eyes trailing to the floor.

"I was so enraged. I scolded her quite harshly that evening. It broke her heart. All she wanted was a little fun…"

He erupted into a sob, his face buried under charcoal stained hands.

"Father always taught me the jungle was humanity's bitter enemy. Our race had feared, hated and cursed the jungle. Attempts to burn it down were met with hordes of angry Ohmu. It's like the ecosystem is alive, seeking to destroy humanity. Every time humans resist, it spreads with more ferocity. By the gods, it knows anger! I have felt it myself, Orryumu. But as much as I am afraid of the Rotwood, I seek to know more…"

"More, you say? Are you finally looking for answers?"

Saladin clasped his hands, as if praying. "I just cannot believe that humanity's fate is extinction…"

He glanced to an atlas of the old world which hung over his shelves. Next to it was a painting that a fellow historian salvaged from a ruined village. It showed a man feeding a type of short-haired cattle with a white tail in a woodland forest, a rare site in a post-incinerated world.

"Humans and nature coexisted before. I have to believe that these centuries of darkness will give birth to a new life, a new world where man and beast are in harmony."

Orryumu took a long swig from his canteen. He glanced at the window, as he always did when in deep thought. The cries of the merchants grew quiet as the ward prepared for the night, for the merrymaking will soon take place indoors at the many bright taverns stockpiled with barrels of ale.

Saladin excused himself and headed to the pantry. There he kept his nighttime candles. His favorites were the ones he had obtained from the local physician a solstice back.

"Some light for our talk as the dark hours approach." Soft light radiated from the fat silos of wax, sizzling at the wicks.

"What a wonderful scent… what are they made of?" Orryumu took a sniff of the fumes.

"The local physician told me that they were made from the bodily excretions of the Royal Yanma. Apparently, they protect against evil spirits."

Orryumu collapsed onto a nearby chair, humming to himself.

"I had almost forgotten to tell you!" The young man smiled ear to ear as he leaned toward the small tea table. "You have been requested by His Majesty the King to partake in the annual Northern Expedition."

Saladin hardly moved a muscle. "To the Rotwood for Ohmu shell again?" He tossed his quill lazily, which clinked in its well.

"No Saladin, to visit the Northern Crypt. I know that you are very familiar in the location and its treasure, but the navy reconnaissance has discovered something… alien…"

"The navy usually blows up anything that they've never seen before. They never cared for Ceramic Era sites. Who knows what could've been spotted. Perhaps their scout was drunk…"

"But it is for certain this time. The legend might be true! Think of the pow- "

Saladin raised his palm abruptly.

"Orryumu, the world is not always about war and technology. Please understand that, my friend. Hasn't the planet had enough of war already?"

"But you cannot deny that some fighting must be done to preserve our people!"

"Xathanus is not at war. We haven't been for 230 years. Our neutrality is unprecedented in the history of the world. I would very much have that record continue during my lifetime!" he shot back with a playful chuckle.

Orryumu bit his tongue. He did make a stubborn point. The kingdom was once again having a great golden age because of the peace.

The stubborn young noble however, knew that regardless of how far the Sea of Corruption was, the other kingdoms will be pushed to the coast by the spreading of miasma. Lost land equals lost farmland, and with lost farmland equals less food for the starving masses. The Holy Emperor of the Doroks has already cast his great eye across the Inland Sea to the plains of Xathanus. The garrison of the Imperial Guard of the Vai Emperor has been reported to have relocated to the border.

 _But Saladin pays no heed to such things. Never has, never will._

"So, will you go?" Orryumu asked.

The question broke the historian's train of thought. There was a long pause before he answered.

"Why, yes of course. I am interested in seeing this "alien" object or whatever Miko found during his aerial reconnaissance."

"So it's confirmed. Report time is dawn at the Great Port." He stood up, the floor creaking under heavy boots.

"Oh, the candles were lovely." He snatched one of the fat wax cylinders and blew it out.

"Take it. It might help against the engine smoke onboard."


End file.
